Ryder
by Skys-The-Man
Summary: Set in the future. A mysterious Japanese medical facility, two planet earths that are at war with each other, and physical changes bigger than puberty are just the start of his problems.
1. Before

It started with a phone call.

My mom wasn't home from work until four, so it was usually just my sister and me until then. We used to walk home from school together; I'd pick her up from the lower school and we'd walk the three blocks back to our apartment that towered over the city park. I'd ask her how her day was, not that the fifth grade was really interesting, and she'd reply pensively, like it was some deep question. Sometimes it was bad because her teacher set her in timeout and wouldn't let her color with the other kids, which sounded horribly childish for fifth graders. Other days, Paige would bound up to me with a smile and explain in elaborate detail the excellence of her day before I could even ask. I tried to remember back to the fifth grade, and I could never remember a day of school making me so happy.

That day wasn't any different. I guess my backpack was a little heavier, because my psychology teacher had given me a nine hundred page book to download for homework, but other than that I was still my tired, depressed self. Paige skipped down the path leading from the lower school, grinning at me smugly like she expected something. I glared at her for a minute, and then snorted.

"Okay, I guess you're waiting for this: how was your day?"

"Now that you _finally_ ask," she sighed, brushing a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear, "it was great. Teacher let us do all of our homework in class, so I'm free tonight! And Arabella hadn't stolen my pencil case after all, I had just left the stupid pouch in my locker."

"Hmm," I answered, without any clue what she was referring to. Probably something she had droned on about yesterday.

But then she did something that surprised me. She skipped ahead of me and turned on her heel so that she was facing me, and she beamed.

"You never tell me how your day was," she said, cocking her head to the side. "So how was it?"

I sighed. In all honesty, it hadn't been exactly spectacular. I preferred to keep Paige in the dark when it came to the horrors and hassles of upper school life. Well, at least my experience with it.

"Um," I said unenthusiastically, "okay."

"What do you mean _okay_, Jase? What made it okay?"

"What's with the sudden interest in my life?" I shot back bitterly. When she pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, I sighed and muttered a weak apology.

What had I done today? First block had been a nightmare. Teacher had thrown us a pop quiz on reading material that had sailed over my head. Something meaningless about a base at the southern tip of Africa. It had had something to do with the war, but I couldn't learn anything from it. So I bombed the quiz, and then second block had started, which had gone smoothly. But after second block…

"Uh, I met with some people who don't really like me," I said quietly.

Consciously, I felt my hand in my pocket. I could still feel the swollen knuckles and the dry, caked blood that had smeared onto my fingers. Yes, you could say that I didn't really like those people very much.

Still, Paige took interest. Too much TV had corrupted her pathetic little existence.

"Did you fight?" She asked eagerly, bobbing up and down on the soles of her shoes. I was walking too fast, so she gave up her lead and fell back into pace beside me.

"Something like that," I said bitterly, clenching my fist. I guess that she must have seen, because she grabbed my arm and tried to yank my hand out of my pocket.

"Stop it!" I shouted, pulling away. She shoved me hard in the side, but didn't pry. I kept my eyes downcast, biting the inside of my lip. There was such a thing called a right to privacy.

"I'm sorry," she said softly after a few seconds of the hard silence that she found unbearable. "So what good things happened?"

"It's okay," I accepted. But good things? I guess that I had gotten a good mark in languages class, which qualified me for some prestigious military award. How a fifteen-year-old could get a military away baffled me. "I got good marks on a paper I wrote. In language class."

That set Paige off. Her eyes grew wide, and I shut my ears. I didn't want to hear it. Paige knew about the connection between the language department and the military. Her mouth wouldn't stop moving until we got home.

I caught a few jabbered lines of her exuberant speech. Something like, "oh my gosh, Jason, do you know that this means?" Yes, I did. "You could get into the military like Sir! Granted, you'd be gone a lot, but think about it! My little Jase, an officer…on Earth…"

I didn't start listening again until we had reached the apartment complex. Thirty floors of boxy rooms towered above us. We lived so high up that I told people that when I looked out of my bedroom window, I could see Teacher preparing her next lesson. Like always, I pressed my thumb into the pad at the front of the building and the glass doors slid open. Paige trotted in after me, suddenly silent. Talking in the lobby was not tolerated, especially since there were always too many important people entering and exiting the building. It was a shabby complex, but through a thick network of social diversities, we still managed to have an important guest in the building at least every other day.

I trudged over to the elevator and punched the up key. Instantly, the doors opened to reveal the tiny metal box. I stepped into the container and pressed the keys for our floor. Paige slipped in beside me. Quietly, the doors closed, and I felt the pull in my chest as we began to ascend.

Paige started at a dark blue mirror that was placed in the corner of the elevator. It was a camera that monitored the elevator, and somehow she thought it was not suspicious at all to stare at it for the duration of the ride. Stupid, but it was useless to convince her otherwise.

"It's not going to-"

"Shhh!" She snapped, nudging me in the shoulder but keeping her gaze fixed perfectly on the monitor. "It can hear you too."

"Good God," I muttered, running my good hand through my hair. It wasn't hot outside, but I was sweating. They kept the elevators so warm that the temperature smothered you if you weren't used to it.

Finally, we reached our floor. Paige skipped ahead of me, keeping her gaze on that stupid monitor until her feet were firmly planted on the carpet of the hallway.

"What snack do you want?" She asked, while I fished the key card out from the chain that hung around my neck. That way, I always had the key with me. I always had somewhere I could go to.

"MmmHmmm," I muttered, which in kid language, meant something like "I dunno".

"Can you make up some of those square cheese crackers?"

"Okay," I said, stopping in front of the door to our apartment. There was a window in the wall next to the door, where the entire city was thrown up before us. You would have thought that in order to get such a great view, you'd have to live in a palace. At least, not a shabby twenty-seventh floor apartment.

I slid the key card into the slot by the door, and the green light flashed. The door swung open and Paige skipped through, throwing her backpack onto the white carpet.

"Mom won't be happy about you ruining her carpet," I scolded, picking up the pack after her. The door closed behind me with a soft click, and the lights popped on. The blinds retracted back into the walls, revealing a span of crooked windows that overlooked the city. Light paved into the dingy little room, and Paige smiled.

"Mom isn't home yet," she sneered.

Great. Now not only did I have a truck load of homework, but I had a snooty little sister who would be bored out of her mind until four o'clock when the bus dropped Mom off. Sighing, I picked up her backpack and dumped it on the couch with mine, and then trudged into the kitchen. She had said something about cheese squares. I rummaged around in the cupboard until I found a penny-sized pouch that was colored orange and yellow.

"Hmm," I grumbled, throwing it into the microwave. I turned around to check mail, which had slid onto the counter like always, and I heard the pop and a click as the microwave door flung open. And bam, just like that, I had her stupid little cheese squares not too hot and not too cold, ready to eat.

"Paige! Food!" I cried, setting the dish down on the table and shuffling through the mail.

Bill. Bill. Angry letter from the tax collectors, which I bit my lip over and threw into the trash. I knew it was wrong, but Mom had told me to throw any tax collector notes into the garbage, so I reluctantly complied. The next letter was from Paige's teacher, letting Mom know that she was getting excellent marks. There was a similar letter from my teacher, with not-so-excellent reports, but I didn't care.

The last letter was the most interesting. I frowned as Paige came into the kitchen to collect her snack. The letter, printed on crisp white paper, was addressed to Jason Timothy Ryder. My name, so why the hell shouldn't I open it? The return address was what most concerned me. Coricco Military Facilities, CMF, in Coricco, North Mexica. That was the leading military base in the world.

"Whatcha got there?" Paige asked.

"Go away," I said, shoving her away. With a sigh, she left. I heard the TV flip on, and I pictured her hypnotized stare as her eyes glazed over.

I ripped open the letter and read the first few lines:

Mr. Jason Timothy Ryder,

It has come to our attention that you have obtained an excellent reputation in your language studies class. As you are well aware, this qualifies you for the prestigious CMF military award, in which you would be recruited into one of the finest institutions for military training upon the arrival of your sixteenth birthday-

I jumped, dropping the letter. The phone buzzed. Gritting my teeth in annoyance, I picked the letter up and walked over to the phone muttered a halfhearted, "I got it." Not like Paige would ever pick up the phone.

"'Lo?" I said into the receiver. There was a click on the other side, and a female voice responded.

"Hello, my name is Sandy Carthane. May I please speak to Mr. Jason Ryder?"

Carefully, I unfolded the letter I was still holding and looked at the signature at the bottom of the page. Sure enough, I was able to recognize the beautifully scrawled letters that together seamlessly spelled the name Sandy Carthane. Could it really be the same person on the phone?

"Hello?" She asked again, when I didn't respond.

"Er, yeah, this is he," I said quickly, fumbling to keep a grip on the phone.

"Hello, Jason. As I have already said, I am Ms. Carthane from CMF. I called to talk to you today about your future."

"Um, yeah, I just got a letter from you. I'm holding it right now."

"Isn't it funny how that works out?" She said, but she didn't sound amused in the least. "Anyway, Jason, you are in a suitable condition to be selected as one of the ten recruits to participate in the CMF international relations program. Are you aware of this?"

"Yes."

"Good. That cuts our time in half," she chuckled, even though I didn't find it very funny. In the living room, Paige was too focused on her TV program to realize that I was on the phone.

Carthane continued.

"We've reviewed your abilities over and over again, Jason, and we believe that you would be a wonderful asset to our program. Within a year from now, you could be shipping out to places like Japan, Australia, and Mexico. With a mere year of training, you could be an officer with your own group of five or six men. If you're interested in learning more about the program, I'd like to cordially invite you to an interest meeting this Thursday night at eight-thirty. Would you be able to obtain transportation to your school gymnasium?"

"I'm within walking distance," I said breathlessly.

"Excellent! Then I can anticipate seeing you there?"

"Wait! Why the gym in my high school?"

I had to ask. I heard her laughing on the other end, and a click. Had she hung up?

"We have ways of being in more than one place at once, Jason. I will be appearing in twenty schools across the country. But it's a good question."

I still didn't see how it was possible, but she was in the military. And to be honest, I was too enthralled with the thought of becoming an officer to respond. She took my silence as a good time to close.

"Jason, so much awaits you with CMF. At just sixteen years old, you could push your way into the invigorating world of the military. Am I convincing you?"

"Honestly, yes," I said. Looking around, I threw in, "there's not a lot to do out here."

"Iowa?"

"Kansas," I muttered, my cheeks reddening. She couldn't even see me, but the embarrassment spread into my cheeks.

"Well, Jason, I hope to see you on Thursday. If you can, bring a parent. There will be application forms at the meeting. Do you have any other questions?"

"No, thanks," I said. "I'll be there."

"Jason, you've made a good decision. Just keep doing well in your language studies class. I'll see you on Thursday."

"Bye," I said into the receiver.

And I hung up the phone.

It all started with that phone call. Had I been smart, I would have let the phone ring. I would have never heard about the meeting, and I would have never made one of the most horrible mistakes of my life. Entering the CMF was never all fun and games. I should have been able to discern that from the sickeningly corruptive tone in Sandy Carthane's voice, but I was too naive. Instead I went to that meeting, along with five other eligible kids from the Kansas Upper School for Privileged Children, not that any of us were privileged, and I got accepted into that horrible program.

A month after Sandy Carthane had called my house on an okay sort of day, I was shipped off to Coricco. I hugged my sister and she cried, and I hugged my mother, who also cried.

I keep thinking back to that moment, and I can't keep thinking that they were the lucky ones.

I was at least sure that _I _wasn't.


	2. Mission Possible

"Ah, Ryder," she said observantly, crossing her legs and tilting her head back so that she could get a better look at me. There was something about the blue eyes that stared down at me from behind her glasses that I didn't like. Still, her smile was convincing enough. I took a seat at her desk, a little self conscious, and bit my lip. A habit I had devotedly practiced for too long.

"How long has it been?" She asked sweetly, smiling at me from across the desk.

"A few months, I think," I replied, letting my eyes wander around the room. Normally, being called down to Carthane's office was an omen for certain death. Still, something about her alluding smile told me that this was business. And business normally meant that I was about to se sent off to some foreign country on the surface of an alien planet.

"It's been too long."

It actually hadn't been long enough.

"Your records show that you're healthy," she pointed out when I didn't respond. There was a manila folder in her pleasantly manicured fingers, which was open to a form of health that I had been given after a physical taken the week before. I still winced when I thought about the wriggling latex-covered fingers of the doctor combing over my skin. One reason not to join CMF: the humility of their medical staff.

"Heart seems to be in excellent shape," she observed, scanning over the notes. "Only one injury under employment. And I understand that it was during an overnight drill?"

Her eyes stared at me from under her red rimmed glasses and I wanted to squirm in my seat. If there had been a We-Love-Sandy-Carthage Club, I definitely would not have been the president.

"Yeah," I said, clearing my throat. "Someone lit my tent on fire."

True story, but not as funny as it sounds.

"I see," she said. "And how are those burns healing?"

"Nothing but scars left now," I said, flexing my wrist. A gauntlet of tanned skin ran up my arm, nothing more than a memory of the accident. Carthane nodded, and closed the folder.

"So, this is where we stand, Ryder. You're an average looking, brown haired sixteen year old boy with excellent marks from the Academy, and remarkable scores obtained during physical training. That's why you're perfect."

My cheeks brightened a little. I honestly couldn't see her point. What could be so perfect about being secretly brilliant, if I do say so myself?

"We received reports of a disturbance regarding one of the Japanese bases on Earth. They're apparently participating in unethical and dangerous medical testing to try and create a…I don't know, exactly, some sort of supreme soldier."

"Like a super-soldier?" I asked, grinning. The thought of a bunch of flying Japanese soldiers blasting us with their laser vision reminded me of the TV shows my sister used to watch.

"You could say," Carthane sneered. Apparently, she didn't find the comparison very amusing. "The point is that this technology could result in a massive outburst of a new line of soldiers. If the power was put into the wrong hands, a new race of these super-soldiers could be created."

"So you're saying," I stuttered, trying to shove the pieces of the puzzle together, "that the power is in the wrong hands. With the Japanese."

Carthane bowed her head and put a finger up to her lip like she was thinking. In a pop culture magazine it might have been interpreted as somewhat seductive. Then slowly, in a serious voice she said, "The Japanese have been the driving technological force for Earth. Bring them down, and we might have a shot at ending this war. It's not just about taking away their power. It's about bringing down that entire sect of Earth. Letting it crumble."

The light hit her eyes and I saw a hint of madness. But regardless of Carthane's sanity in relationship to the war, I think that she had a good point. The Japanese were dangerous. Dangerous, but smart. They made the best weapons, they had the best doctors, and they had the best leaders who organized phenomenal outer planet strategies.

And I knew that she was asking me to go. Me, and maybe a group of ten or fifteen others. That's all that was needed. Skill, not quantity.

"So where do I sign?" I asked, slouching back in my chair, trying to make myself comfortable. Which was difficult, seeing as how I was seated in the center of the most dangerous room in the entire CMF facility.

Carthane smiled and leaned back in her chair as well, bringing the tips of her fingers together and glaring at me with her seductive green eyes. This was where the diplomacy set in.

"I love your enthusiasm, which is definitely going to play a key factor in the success of our mission. But we need to move quickly and efficiently. The ship to Earth sets out tomorrow at twenty-three hundred hours. I have the names of the eleven other soldiers who will be accompanying you, and the location of pickup." Then she paused and sighed, an action that she rarely allowed. "This is going to be a fast paced mission, Ryder. Five hours, in and out. You need to know the compound like the back of your hand."

That meant that I'd probably spend the next twenty four hours confined to slow paced study, staring at books that I had read and reread but still didn't understand. I'd need to know about the complex we'd be infiltrating, the rooms that were most heavily populated, and exactly what I'd have to do with this medical stuff. Was it going to be James Bond, or Mission Impossible?

Carthane slipped me a piece of paper from across her desk, then folded her arms across her chest. The paper was very official looking, with the name of the mission typed in a straight font, centered, at the top of the page. It had a numerical code too, which would be needed for filing purposes. "Med-12" is what they called it. Below the title were twelve names, listed alphabetically, giving the ages and statuses of each soldier to be attending. It was all very classroom-like, like something Teacher would use to call role. But there was also something militaristic about it. The numbers, the regulations.

The youngest member was a fifteen-year-old from Drega, and the oldest was a Japanese engineer who apparently knew how to access the facilities. I nodded as I ran down every name. "Avery Cliff" popped out at me, and there was another familiar girl's name that I should have recognized, but I couldn't picture a face to go with the words on the page.

Carthane cleared her throat and I knew that I was being asked to leave. Startled, I blinked and passed back the paper.

"Hikoro Nakamuro is leading this particular venture, as he is familiar with the area. Do as he says. You're second in command. Jones is third."

That was something that didn't happen everyday. But Carthane was an unpredictable woman with a personality that could be altered when the wind blew. There had to have been a reason to personally request my presence.

"Where should I go?" I asked, standing up. I stood with my arms by my side, and my back perfectly straight. Heels clicked together, and chin up. Carthane sat forwards in her seat, out of either respect or because her legs had fallen asleep, and said, "Meet at dock fifteen at twenty-three hundred. Bring nothing with you, as all necessities will be provided. Do you think you can handle this?"

After giving me the responsibility herself, handpicking me out of hundreds of other men and women who were slightly more capable than I, she was throwing me another curve ball. What did it matter what I thought? Of course she'd make me go.

"Well, yeah," I said, slouching a little. "It sounds…fun."

And she laughed. Her seething laugh, alluring to most of the older soldiers, exposing her pearly white teeth between cherry red lips. I didn't find it quite as enchanting; it was like watching a giraffe try to smile.

"We're expecting much from you, Ryder. Success could mean possible promotions in your status."

"I understand."

"Tomorrow. Twenty-three hundred. Leo will guide you out. Dismissed."

I nodded quickly, and sprinted out of the room. Suddenly, I could breathe again. The weight lifted from my chest and I sighed, running a hand through my hair nervously. Had my palms always been so sweaty?

The hallway was quiet. It was late afternoon, which meant that most people would probably be out by the fields for exercises, or finishing up their afternoon classes. Dorm time, as kiddy as it sounds, began at five. But since I was excused for my meeting with Carthane, I had an extra hour. Might as well get started, I thought, heading for the library.

The CMF campus was huge. It was purposely located in the middle of nowhere, so that no one would find it. Occasionally a stray plane would fly over, but from overhead we looked like an oil company. That was due to a defense mechanism the engineers had set up a few years before I had arrived. A trek from Carthane's office to the library would take about ten minutes. I had my identification card, so I wouldn't have trouble getting in. Why not start the torture early?

I thought about the mission. "Med-12". Med probably stood for medical, which referred to the units we were trying to get rid of. Twelve meant the number of people involved. Twelve people, that I was one of, heading into enemy territory for no more than five hours. Oddly, the first thought I had was whether or not they'd drug us up to keep us awake. It was a practice that was undertaken more frequently than it should have been. Were the Japanese using similar drugs to enhance their soldiers? I snorted, thinking about how hypocritical that would make us. But that didn't mean that I was willing to destroy their facility; if someone had to have this life-changing drug, I wished that it could at least be us. We might not use it…

But if we had it, there's no doubt Carthane _would_ use it. It all wound back to how hypocritical the world was. Sighing, I shook my head and slouched outside. It was a rare sunny day, and the air was surprisingly fresh. I sniffed. The air was cold, because it was November, but it smelled like flowers. It sounds stupid to be coming out of the mouth of one of the top students at CMF, but I liked it. It was refreshing in the sense that the air was normally filled with smog. Either that, or it was raining. The climate wasn't well suited for a military base.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around. I hadn't heard footsteps, so I spun rigidly, my arm out abrasively incase there was a fight. Something months of training had taught my instincts.

"Whoa!" he shouted, throwing up his hands. "Easy there, Jase."

It was Paul, the kid who slept in the bunk above me. His blonde hair was always long and messy, and since Paul was a year older than I, he was able to get a weak stubble beard to fuzz up along his jaw. He smiled crookedly and thumped me on the back.

"What ever happened to training?" I asked, breathing heavily. He had nearly given me a heart attack!

"Dose let us out early."

"An hour early. _Dose?_ I don't believe that."

"Then I cut. Believe what you want."

In the box labeled "eligible recruits for battle", Paul was in the back. It baffled me how at seventeen, he was able to worm his way into such a vigorous program. Apparently he was good with tech stuff that sailed right over my head. Paul the Tech kid.

"Where you goin'?" he asked, pulling an apple out of nowhere and crunching on it rhythmically as we walked. Flecks of apple flew at me, creating the same effect as if Paul had a chainsaw and was cutting down an apple tree.

"Library. I'm being sent off tomorrow," I said casually. Paul stopped walking. Rolling my eyes, I kept going. He'd run to catch up when he figured out that I wasn't stopping.

"Wh-th-hello, Jase! You could have mentioned that earlier!"

"Don't blame me, I just found out," I shrugged, the memory of the swarthy Sandy Carthane still fresh. Paul still had dreams about Carthane, lying on a couch in a bikini holding an apple in her mouth, asking, "Do you want a taste?". It befuddled me how someone could even talk with an apple in their mouth.

"How?"

"Carthane's office."

"Where?"

"Japan."

When he gaped at me, I reassured him, "It'll only be about a day. We're only grounding for five hours. Plus nine hours each way…" I did the math in my head and figured I'd be back late the day after tomorrow.

Paul was still looking hopeful. He gained his excitement from other people's fortunes. Meaning that every time something cool happened to someone he knew, he was bound to blab about it for weeks. Paul and my sister would have gotten along well.

"I'll miss you, man," he said, clapping me on the back again. The breath flew out of my chest. It was like being hit in the back with a meat cleaver.

"It's a day, Paul. One night. You can't possibly get bored that fast."

"I'm bored right now," he said, finished his apple and tossing the core onto the sidewalk. A claw instantly popped out of one of the tiles and dragged the core into the earth. One of the cooler things about our campus.

"You'll probably be crying by the time we get to the library. Don't you have something to do? Someone to go flirt with?"

"That reminds me- I told Fifi I'd meet her in the TA room. See ya!" Paul flashed me a two-fingered salute and cut off across the grass. Sighing, I slouched the next four blocks to the library without any sudden intrusion.

The smell of books made my nose itch. I scanned myself into the building using the ID card I had been given upon arrival at CMF, and I sat down at one of the tables in the back. Glancing at the clock that ominously stared down at us from the far wall of the library, I gulped. Two hours. Two hours of educational torture. I typed the genre of book I wanted into the computer at me desk, and the books appeared to the right hand side of the computer.

Reluctantly, I opened the top book, something about Japanese complex structures, and started to read. It was like listening to a tape recording of my sister talking.

Boring. As. Hell.


	3. Down the Rabbit Hole

My feet slammed into the mud and I flattened myself against the ground. Mud spurted up into my mouth, speckling the goggles that I was given to protect my eyes. My gun rode my into my chest, making it impossible to breathe. I gasped. Behind me, I heard the thuds as ten other people jumped out of the helicopter. In front of me, Nakamuro was wriggling in the mud, his expression in a familiar permanent scowl. One flash of the two fingered solute, and we were crawling through the dirt and sludge, smearing it across the front of our uniforms. Half a mile like this, Nakamuro had said. He was leading us in through an excretory system that dumped waste into a manmade lake behind the complex. Not the prettiest way to get it, but it did its job.

Nakamuro's heel jabbed into my jaw as he squirmed ahead, moving his shoulders and his torso like he was a deformed snake. He would have been snakelike standing, and as he slithered through the mud I could almost hear him hissing. Almost. Mud clung to my clothing and grass stuck up in my hair. The drone of the helicopter floated away, and was suddenly replaced by the pattering of rain against the tall grass. It drained into our eyes, making it impossible to see. The only way I could find the right direction was by following the painful stabs of Nakamuro's boot at it kicked me in the jaw.

So far, Japan looked more threatening than impressing. From the helicopter, we could only see a distant grey compound and miles of sickly green-brown muck. The grass here stood at about two feet tall, so we were easily concealed. Still, I would have preferred to just go commando, showing up at the door with a machine gun and blasting their brains onto the wall. Instead we were stuck edging our way through the dismal quagmires that plastered the ground for miles and miles. As soon as I had hit the ground, my uniform was sopping.

After about ten minutes of such conditions, the swamp let off to a concrete drain. Nakamuro slid onto his back, kicking me in the face one last time, and inched his way down slowly, placing himself close to the grass. The drain was about twenty feet long with a steady decline that led into a pool of murky green water. Gritting my teeth, I turned to Avery behind me and flashed him a two fingered solute. It was okay to descend. Swiftly, if that was possible in drenched clothing, I maneuvered myself so that my feet were facing forwards. For a minute I wanted to bash my feet into the back of Nakamuro's skull, but I decided that that wouldn't go over to well with Carthane. Instead I crawled down the drain, keeping myself as flat as possible, until my boots filled with disgusting green water.

Nakamuro, of course, was already swimming. He had placed his gear in his mouth and was already giving the signal to submerge. Following suit, I swung the gear up from the chain around my neck and bit the rubber plates in the corners. Oxygen instantly started to swell into my mouth, and I let myself dip into the water. It was freezing. I let it come over my head, through my hair until I was completely submerged. But when I was, I couldn't see Nakamuro. The green smog that covered the surface of the lake also drained down, leaving us in a blur of sludge that was impossible to see through. I turned around and saw Avery treading water behind me, his wispy black hair framing around the edges of his face. He looked ahead and pointed.

There was a light a few feet ahead. Nakamuro had switched on his emergency flasher on his belt so that I could see him. Quickly, I did the same, and pushed off of the bank to join him. We must have looked ridiculous, like a school of deranged fish floating through that lake. But the pieces of the puzzle were there; we were probably floating through a vat of toxic chemicals that their doctors used for testing. If this really was a medical facility, then this was all of their liquid waste. For once, I was glad to be wearing Carthane's mandatory unbreathable suit under my uniform.

We went on like this for what seemed like forever. Swimming through the murky blackness. My only hope was that no one had seen us yet. I kept glancing over my shoulder to make sure that Avery was behind me. I couldn't see him; instead I saw the faint red blinking through the water, and I was reassured. We started descending. Underwater, swimming towards the bottom like we were trying to drown ourselves. Suddenly, Nakamuro came into view. He flipped the light off on his belt, and he pointed ahead of him. There was a narrow tube that wound down like a drain. I hoped that it would go back up on the other end. Nakamuro headed down before I could protest. The pipe was so thin that I could barely breathe. My shoulders were hunched and I had to hold my arms out in front of me in order to fit through the passage. It was like being sucked through a dark vacuum. No air and barely any light…

I saw light. We were heading up now, and I saw an artificial light that couldn't have possible been the dreary Japanese sun. Nakamuro broke through the surface and disappeared. I kicked, trying not to cut Avery in the face, and my head bobbed above the surface. Nakamuro was standing to my right, flipping on his gun. He was positively soaked, dripping sickening pools of water onto the concrete floor. For a medical facility, this place didn't look very hygienic. The walls were concrete, smeared with grime and mold, and if you looked up pipes were visibly winding through the ceiling.

I pulled myself out of the tub and curled myself against the wall next to Nakamuro. Avery was unearthed from the tub next, followed by a man named Zell.

"Ryder," Nakumaro whispered, turning to face me. His breath billowed out from his lips with the cold and he shuddered. "We're on the bottom level. We need to work our way up." He jabbed up with a pudgy finger. I nodded.

"I'm following you until we're spotted."

Nakumaro laughed, his lip twitching up into a sneer.

"What makes you think we're going to be caught?"

I shrugged. Something about this mission felt very childish, capture-the-flag like. I didn't like the way that serious, stern looking Nakumaro was suddenly smiling like he'd willingly storm the complex himself.

"We'll split up," I said, jabbing my thumb backwards to indicate the troop behind me. "You take three through seven, and I'll take eight through twelve."

Nakumaro nodded and gave me the familiar two-fingered salute. He motioned for three through seven to join him, and they silently huddled together in front of the door. Something hissed overhead and I shivered. This place felt more like a prison than a lab.

And they were gone. Nakumaro sprinted ahead, splitting off to the right passage. That left me the left. Before we went, I pulled everyone into a huddle. Again, it felt childish, like we weren't really prepared. How long had it been since I'd been sitting in the library, leafing through pages and pages of Japanese history?

"Most of you have been here longer than me," I breathed, scanning their serious, mud-covered faces. "You know what to do. We need to get into the central boiler room and plant the bomb. We'll have twenty minutes. We're here for _stealth_, not action."

"Right," Avery said to my right. "Just like Mission Impossible. Sneaky."

"Follow," I said, throwing up the salute.

I threw myself into the left passage, followed by Avery and the others. If what Nakumaro said was accurate, then we had to wind up a few staircases and pass a few offices before we'd reach the boiler room. So far, we hadn't seen or heard anything. I rounded each corner carefully, curling my gun along the edge of the wall before sliding into the hallway. I'd then clear for them to follow me, and we would proceed.

There was still no sign that this place was a medical center. I hadn't seen a single doctor, or a single person for that matter. There were doors lining each side of the hallway, each inscribed with a number. Shivering, I passed by each silently, trying to move as swiftly as possible in my soaking wet boots.

The pipes overhead began to whine in protest. Steam shot out ahead of us, but we proceeded. It was nothing, maybe a trigger in the air conditioner. A few people behind me winced, but I pressed ahead. Glancing at my watch, I saw that we had only a pathetic three hours and forty seven minutes left. We needed to count on twenty minutes to clear the facility, and then an extra hour after the explosion to head back to the helicopter. I felt like I had been thrown into the middle of a game of laser tag; only if I got shot, the pain would be real, as well as the life threatening injury. Not to mention my troop…I swallowed hard when I thought of the power Carthane had entrusted to me. I couldn't mess this up.

But apparently Nakamuro could.

There was an explosive sound and the entire building rumbled. The hall shook so horribly that we all fell over, scrambling as pipes in the ceiling burst and steam poured into the hall. As quickly as it had started it was over, and we were on our feet again, gripping our guns. Doors on either side of the hall opened, and people streaked out into the open. People with guns fastened to their belts. Apparently, Nakamuro had dumped us in some military offices hall.

There was a string of Japanese curses and a deafening scream as bullets began to fly.

"RUN!" I screamed, pushing my way through the stream of beams and bullets. Avery was close behind me. At the end of the hall we turned around a fired, watching as the Japanese fell to their knees in pools of their own blood.

There was another explosion and the hall shook again, tipping forwards and then back again like the Titanic. My knees slammed into the concrete and Avery plowed into me. Struggling, I stood up and pushed him passed me.

"Get out!" I shouted. He shook his head.

"We're close, we can still plant it!"

"GO!" I shouted, shoving his shoulder forwards. Only two more people streaked around the corner. Two had gone down. I caught my breath and shoved Avery forwards. He refused to move. I could hear the pattering of feet as the Japanese fought to catch up with us.

"Avery, damnit, move!" Shouted Zell from behind me, and together we plowed forwards.

"Give it to me then! I'll do it!" He screamed, lunging at me for the device that would set the entire building up in flames. At the same time, there was a screaming of bullets from behind us and he wriggled in the air before falling over limp. I grabbed Zell and threw myself at the ground. My elbows were numb from the beating, and my head was spinning from the noise. What had Nakamuro done?

Zell screamed in pain beside me. I grabbed him, trying to hoist him up, but before I could there was a barrel of a gun pressed against the underside of my jaw. The firing had stopped. I looked up and saw a serious face, very much like Nakamuro's, staring down at me with contempt. There was blood spattered across his front from the short lived battle.

"Ryder?"

I didn't speak. Somehow he took that as a yes, and someone yanked me up from behind. My heart was hammering hard in my chest. What about the bomb? If they found it, everything was ruined. The only thing left was to suicide the mission, pull it out and set it off now. I reached for my pocket, but the butt of the gun came down across my hand with a slapping sound. I winced.

"No moving," said the man in a sharp accent. And suddenly, everything went black. Something was thrown over my eyes and I was staggering through the halls, guarded along by these strange men. The way they spoke bothered me. Not in a racist way, but in a way that reminded me of Nakamuro. He was just like them.

We walked up a flight of stairs, turning right, right again, and finally left. I remembered the directions carefully, though I was positive that I wouldn't have a chance at escaping.

"Sit," said the harsh voice again. The cloth was yanked off of my head and I was thrown against a wall. "Hands on head." I did as he said. Suddenly, the door fanned open and two others were led through. Jones was recognizable with his flaming red hair, and the second was a girl called Deckermann. Her stringy brown hair clung to her back in wet tendrils, and she was shivering. They were both thrown down next to me, and their head coverings were removed.

We were outnumbered three to ten. I looked around at their faces. Jones was scowling at one of them. I followed his gaze and gritted my teeth. Nakamuro. He was one of them. He had ripped off his sopping uniform to reveal a Japanese suit underneath. My gut clenched and I stared up at him with venom.

"You-"

"Silence!" Screamed one of the guards, and his hand flew through the air and struck my cheek with a pop. I gasped with the pain, bit I tried not to show how badly it actually hurt. "Which one of you is Ryder?"

No one spoke. Deckermann twitched her eyes to look at me, but I stared straight ahead, as did Jones. It wasn't until Nakamuro spoke up that the silence was drowned out of the room.

"Boy on the right."

"Excellent," said the man, and he whisked a pistol out of his pocket and fired two shots. Next to me, Jones and Deckermann were thrown into the wall, their heads cracking against the concrete at blood and brains spilled out of the gashes in their foreheads. I couldn't look. I kept staring straight ahead, gasping, overwhelmed at how badly this mission had gone.

"Good, then," said the man with the pistol. "We can get down to business."

"He won't talk easily," Nakamuro said sternly, his nose twitching up in an expression of pure distaste.

"We can make him talk."

"No, that was not the deal."

Nakamuro was suddenly angry. His arms uncrossed and he looked exasperated. The man with the pistol slipped the gun back into the pocket of his suit and frowned.

"Nakamuro-"

"No. Deal or I take him."

The man frowned again, the creases on his face furrowing. They all looked the same. The man with the pistol thought for a moment, then took out the gun again. My heart dropped into my stomach.

He turned to the guard next to him and said, "Take him to fourteen."

He walked up to me and glared for a moment. Then the butt of his gun slammed down into my forehead and I saw stars. I slouched against the frozen concrete, unconscious.


End file.
